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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Bob Hampton of Placer"

I just
could n't stand for that, so I came away."
Hampton never stirred, his teeth set deep into his cigar, his hands
clinched about the railing. "The fool!" he muttered half aloud, then
caught his breath quickly. "Now see here, Kid," and he turned her
about so that he might look down into her eyes, "I 'm mighty glad you
like me well enough to put up a kick, but if all this is true about me,
why should n't she say it? Do you believe that sort of a fellow would
prove a very good kind to look after a young lady?"
"I ain't a young lady!"
"No; well, you 're going to be if I have my way, and I don't believe
the sort of a gent described would be very apt to help you much in
getting there."
"You ain't all that."
"Well, perhaps not. Like an amateur artist, madam may have laid the
colors on a little thick. But I am no winged angel, Kid, nor exactly a
model for you to copy after. I reckon you better stick to the woman,
and cut me."
She did not answer, yet he read an unchanged purpose in her eyes, and
his own decision strengthened. Some instinct led him to do the right
thing; he drew forth the locket from beneath the folds of her dress,
holding it open to the light.


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